The Choices We Make
by GatesKeeper
Summary: Set during Season 13. Castiel is thinking about what it was like to kill his Apocalypse World-Doppelganger when Dean decides to join him.


"Want to talk about it?" Dean asks, taking a seat beside me while I stare out over the lake.

"I don't know what 'it' you're referring to," I say, but I take the beer he offers me, letting him know I don't mind the company. It's so quiet out here with only the stars humming—such a contrast to the atmosphere back in the bunker, where the recently rescued rebels from the Apocalypse World are celebrating. Twelve hours in this brand-new world and some of them had already picked up a fondness for Pokemon Go—as if they needed more monster hunting in their lives. Humans really were fascinatingly bizarre creatures.

"Killing your doppelganger…Must not have been easy," he says, glancing over. Somehow, I feel his stare and turn to meet it. His normally green eyes look dark against the night.

"He was not particularly formidable compared to some other villains we have taken out, which I suppose, in itself, does disturb me."

"Cas-" Dean begins, with a growl in his voice.

"Ah, you want to know how I am emotionally coping with stabbing another version of myself…." He nods. To be honest, I'd known all along what he was getting at…Even if it had been hard for me at times to pick up on human nuances, I was a fast learner when it came to the Winchesters, and especially this one. I had just been stalling for time, having come outside to ponder exactly that.

We call ourselves Team Free Will 2.0. Sometimes, we say it in cheers as we click our glasses before dinner. Sometimes, Sam says it while fondly ruffling Jack's hair while Dean pats the young Nephilim on the back. Too often, it is said grimly before we go into battle. But it is something we use to describe us, our family.

Dean is still staring at me, so I decide to include him in my thoughts. "I remember a time when I didn't believe "free will" actually existed," I say with a sigh. He blinks, not really understanding where I'm going. "I thought that every decision that was made—big, small, obedient, defiant—was all part of God's master plan—Chuck's," I correct myself.

"But today I met the person I would have been if I hadn't met you and he—he was full of Grace but no Mercy." I think it over a little more. "I have to say, the accent was also a bit disturbing."

Dean tilts his head in agreement.

"His life wasn't that different than mine—only a few years—practically the blink of an eye. And I don't know whether to be concerned that I could have been so different so easily…or proud because I didn't turn out that way."

We sit there quietly for a moment or two, Dean using his beer as more of a prop than something to drink. Finally, he sets it aside, rubbing a large hand over his face.

"Did I ever tell you about the time that Zachariah zapped me into the future? I mean, _really_ tell you about it?"

"You informed me that Sam had become Lucifer and that the world was in chaos."

"I meant—about you."

I feel my eyebrows furrow. "I do not remember you mentioning anything."

"Well, you were there. And you were—different—in that future too. But not like Apocalypse-World different. I could see it in your eyes. You were still Cas, my Cas-" he stops, realizing what he said and quickly looks away, "deep down."

"Which is why," he continues with a rattling breath, "I couldn't understand how Future Dean could even think of sending you into a trap—using your death to-" He wipes his hands on his jeans. "Point is, yes, in some alternative universes or timelines, probably anyone can be capable of some really messed up shit. But while we can feel bad for the mistakes we've made, we can't let ourselves start second-guessing ourselves for the mistakes we avoided."

"That is…likely very wise," I say, even though I sense part of him feels guilty about it either way. However, afterward, the mood does become lighter. I don't know if it was the talk that helped or if it's just Dean's presence that makes the world seem a bit more like the way it is supposed to be. We move on to other things—Dean complaining that they never have a case somewhere with a beach, me telling him more about my childhood (a subject that had interested him especially now that we had Jack), followed by an unprompted rant on Dean's part about how dare Oatmeal Cream Pies call themselves pies. And the stars that were humming earlier really start to sing, though I doubt Dean can hear them.

However, I do find I have one more thing to say about Free Will as the night gets deeper and it becomes clear we must head inside soon. With one hand, I grasp Dean's shoulder, knowing that it has been a long time since he has actually yelled at me for invading his personal space—and indeed, he doesn't say anything, doesn't flinch, but just turns to face me.

My mind flashes back to me and Dean in the beautiful room, Zachariah asking me what I'm doing as I smear the wall with my blood. To Naomi asking me to finish him, using all the power of her brainwashing. To my army of angels asking me to decide between them and Dean. To Metatron pointing out I'd given up the power of the Angel Tablet to save one man. To Ishim asking who I was going to believe. So many choices I had made to get to this moment. And yet, they were all the same choice really. One I know I would make over and over again—as many times as I needed to.

"Thank you…for making me—me."

He reaches up to squeeze my hand. "Right back at you."


End file.
